


The one where you bought some billionaire-free romances

by ClaireScott



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fangirls, Fluff, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6396064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaireScott/pseuds/ClaireScott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As you grab some cheap romances and a kind-of-thriller at a gas station you didn't know where this would lead. The best decision ever. Trust me, honey. </p><p>Based on: "Imagine Dean walking in while you’re reading his sex scenes of the Supernatural books"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The one where you bought some billionaire-free romances

**Author's Note:**

> English is still not my first language and will never be I guess. So I have to apologize for all the toe-curling mistakes.

It’s all quiet on this Sunday afternoon, you’re alone in the bunker, strolling around, searching for something to do. The boys are out for a hunt, you have not a clue when they will be back.  
What about reading a book, you think, making your way to the library. I haven’t read a simple novel for ages. All I read is for research.  
You stop – you will never find a shitty, romantic novel in the bunker’s library. No way. Where can you get a hot and thrilling lecture on a Sunday afternoon, out here in this goddamn nowhere?  
Drive to the gas station, buy a playgirl.  
“Haha,” you’re whispering to yourself.  
But the gas station is not the worst idea. There’s a big one, a few miles down the next highway. They have books. And ice cream. And pie.  
Yeah. That’s it. You will go for some shopping and have some quality time. 

An hour later you’re back – the bunker’s still abandoned. You put three pints of Häagen Dasz in the freezer, the pie on the table, grab a big spoon and the fourth pint – Macadamia Nut Brittle, you would die for this shit – and take it with you to your room. With a deep sigh you fall down on your bed, fishing for the paper bag with your newly acquired books. You have bought two romantic novels about absolutely normal people, stories without billionaires and helicopters, and a “fantasy thriller” with two handsome guys at the cover. You’ve caught the book without reading the back or the blurb. Two guys and some supernatural beings, that’s all the front cover reveals. Could be fun to read – you will be very amused of all the errors the author made. Because you know the truth. The author surely not.  
The first spoon full of ice cream is a divine revelation. You close your eyes, tasting the sweetness. You sigh again, wishing you had someone to share with. The ice cream, the pie, the laughter about this shitty book called Supernatural.  
You’re leaning back at the headboard, grabbing the book and open it. 

You start reading – and your spoon falls out of your mouth, on your stomach, as you read their names for the first time. Dean Winchester? And his brother Sam Winchester? What kind of shit is this? A prank? A kind of enchantment? Did you buy an enchanted book? At a gas station on a highway in Kansas? That sounds incredibly hard to believe. You thumb forward until your eyes get caught on a particular explicit scene.  
_Dean’s hands open her zipper, his tongue circling around her bellybutton. She moans, begging him to go on and Dean obeys. Now she’s in a hurry to get rid of all her clothes and ..._  
You grab the ice pint and eat another spoonful of this macadamia dream.  
“Who not? Goddamn, who not? I would break every fucking striptease record in the world if Dean Winchester would lick circles around my bellybutton,” you whisper. “Lucky girl. I really hope you enjoyed it.”  
The scene is fascinating, so fascinating you forget about your ice cream, you’re sucking, lost in thought, on your spoon as you read the few pages again and again.  
“Oh!” You whisper after the fourth time, “Maybe there’s more?”  
You thumb again through the book, searching for another hot scene with Dean. It’s him, it must be him. You remove the spoon out of your mouth for some more ice cream and lick your lips as you found another scene, even hotter and more detailed than the first. You’re angling your legs, leaning the book on your thighs and diving deeply into this really delicate piece of porn.

“Hey, (Y/N). We’re back. Did you go for some pie? May I have a piece?” Dean asks, standing in front of your bed.  
You’re squeaking, totally startled: “God, Dean! You scared the shit outta me!”  
“Yeah, I get that. Sorry. Whatcha readin? You’re totally in, don’t you? Didn’t hear me coming.”  
He’s taking a seat on the edge of your bed, smiling. Dean grabs the romantic novels and reads the back: “Nah! Seriously? I didn’t expect you would read this kind of novels.”  
“I was bored,” you answer, “I bought you some pie, Dean.”  
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. Whatcha readin?” He asks again and goes about to grab your book out of your hands.  
“No!”  
“No?” He asks, frowning, “Come on. More awkward than these two isn’t possible.”  
He jerks the books out of your hands and you clench your teeth. Dean reads a few lines, takes a look at the cover and starts smiling.  
“I remember that. But I hate to read it.”  
“So this is the truth?” You ask, wrapping your arms around your knees.  
“Yes.”  
“But how...?”  
“Uh, long story. Later, okay? I’m here to say thank you for the pie, but now....” His grin is between evil and smutty and you feel tons of butterflies in your stomach.  
“Oh. So, you’re welcome. Don’t mention it.”  
He comes very close, the lath floor squeaks as he sits down right beside you.  
“Whatcha doin’ here, (Y/N)?” He whispers, “Eating a pint of ice cream, researching my sex life?”  
You’re blushing and shake your head furiously.  
“No. No, Dean, I’m so sorry. Look, I bought this book because I thought it was a normal thriller, I didn’t even read the back or the blurb. Really. I swear. Here, take it. I don’t want to be invasive or ... or ... pass your boundaries, but as I start reading I weren’t able to stop and...” You stutter so much, it’s embarrassing.  
Dean puts the book on your nightstand, nodding slowly. The pint of ice cream and the spoon follows. He watches you closely, you gulp a bit and he grins.  
“Did you like it?” He whispers, his lips only an inch away from yours. “Did you like the notion?”  
“Yes, very much.” You confess, closing your eyes.  
“It’s a turn on, hah?”  
You nod, biting your lip. God, you will come in your panties just from the way he looks at you.  
You feel his hand on your neck, holding you as he presses his lips on yours. The kiss is soft and slow and he chuckles as he quits.  
“What?”  
“Macadamia Nut Brittle, indeed. Like it.”  
You smile and start caressing his cheek.  
“Wanna try if Chuck writes the truth?” He asks, nodding in the direction of the book.  
“Did you tell him the story, or ...?”  
“No. I would never ever tell my sex life any author in the world, babe. He just knows whatever happens to Sam and me and he writes these books for a living. Nobody reads them, normally.”  
“So, if you and I have sex, I will read about my own goddamn bellybutton in the next book?” You point at the book, remembering the first scene you’ve read.  
“Of every moan you make, maybe. Yeah. I’m sorry but I can’t control what he writes.”  
You sigh. That’s ... Yeah, what is it? A fucking mess? Kind of, for sure. But: You only live once. And no one you know reads this kind of books. You couldn’t care less. You’ve made a wish. Someone you could share ice cream and this book with. Now he’s here.  
“Would you mind licking circles around my bellybutton?”  
“Whatever you want, babe,” Dean grins and kisses you again. “But first things first, okay?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“We need a condom. Have one here? Or maybe two?”  
“Yeah. Nightstand.”  
“Great.” Dean says, gets up and locks the door.  
He gives you a smile as he opens his belt – and just for a second you hear the noises of a typewriter.  
“Did you hear this?” You ask, frowning.  
“Typing?”  
“Yeah.”  
Dean laughs and shakes his head: “Relax, baby. If every woman I have ever fucked would be in Chuck’s novels, Chuck would be a porn king with bestseller books.”  
“Bragger. So I don’t matter?”  
“For me you do. For Chuck: We’ll see. You sure you want this?”  
You think about it for a second, giving Dean a long and thoughtful look. His bulge is impressive, his belt already open, he’s so sexy and you want him so bad.  
Fuck you, Chuck, whoever you are, you think, I’m going to have sex with him and don’t you dare writing about.  
“Come here, Dean. Kiss me,” you whisper and he’s doing as he’s told.  
Dean’s gentle and takes it slow, takes his time to explore your body, gives you time to get to know his. He’s not complicated and he knows what he wants. The way he touches you make you shiver, make you want more and more.  
“Oh, my god!” You sigh as he slides slowly in you, hoping, that Chuck journalizes every damn second of your Sunday evening with Dean.  
You will love to read this again and again, to re-live this in your mind when you’re eighty and dry as a three year old walnut.  
“What are you thinking of, hon?” Dean whispers, slipping a bit out, “You look distracted.”  
“I just thought that I have to buy every Supernatural book and ... ooooh” You claw your nails in his back as he thrusts back in you.  
“Don’t you dare thinking of another man when I’m in you, babe! Even if it’s Sam and his... whatever he does.” Dean grins and kisses you deeply.  
“I don’t think anything anymore”, you whisper – and that’s it.  
He rolls you over let you ride him a bit before he turns you around again. You feel the romantic novels you bought – the ones about the totally normal people, the ones without helicopters and billionaires – in your back while Dean fucks you through the mattress, perfect in every way and by every trick in the book.  
Your orgasm hits you with might and main while Dean whispers filthy things in your ear, just as you’ve read about in the books.  
This? This is a romantic novel about nearly normal people. With Macadamia Nut Brittle instead of a helicopter. And who needs a fucking billionaire when you have Dean Winchester in your bed? Exactly.


End file.
